Heller's Regret

by JD Nixon

  Because she’d cooperated so willingly with the police, Francine was expected to receive only a suspended sentence for being an accessory when she faced court in several months time. But she too, had been questioned at length, although she insisted she had no knowledge of the whereabouts of the necklace.

  Farrell told me Mrs Burwood was devastated at the loss of the necklace, the duchy adamantly ruling out ever dealing with the store or her again – a huge blow for a woman proud of her career.

  “How did Jaegar do it?”

  “His accomplice told police he paid a sizeable sum for a master key to the display cabinet.”

  “So he just strolled in, unlocked it and took off with the necklace?”

  “It seems to be that easy.”

  “I don’t understand how he could disable the cameras without being filmed doing it.”

  “Again, his accomplice said he had some type of interference device that briefly disrupted the cameras’ signals, giving him enough time to cut the wires. When Collett checked the footage, he found a couple of grainy minutes from each camera.”

  “Francine sure knows a lot about the plan for someone who claims they weren’t really aware of what was going on. I wonder if she’s as innocent as she makes out.”

  “The store have kept her on staff, but I imagine Mrs Burwood is keeping a close eye on her.”

  “I can’t imagine Heller ever keeping someone like her as an employee.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “What do you think Jaegar did with the necklace?”

  “Dunno. Stashed it somewhere for when he gets out of jail would be my guess.”

  “Let me know if you hear any more about it.”

  When I received the all clear to return to work, I approached Clive by phone, hoping he’d have an easy new assignment for me. He made some general noises, which could have meant, “not yet”, or more hopefully, “I’ll see what I can find”. And I had to be satisfied with that.

  At a loose end that evening, I sat on the lounge eating a salad and watching People’s Pulse. I missed working for Trent, but he seemed to be getting along just fine without me. As did the Heller’s team had done when I worked for Trent, which made me wonder if I really added any value anywhere.

  Not wanting to sink into a pity party, I decided I should do something to improve myself, like arranging for a hair appointment, or doing a bit of light exercise. But that sounded like a lot of effort, so instead I spent a couple of hours surfing the internet, thinking of hitting the sack when my phone rang.

  “Hello,” I barely managed to say before my caller, Brian, spoke urgently.

  “Tilly, you have to come to the hospital now,” he said, with more emotion in his voice than I’d heard for a long time. “Dad’s had a heart attack.”

  Shocked, I stopped only long enough to scribble down the ward and bed number. He wasn’t in ICU, I told myself, and that had to be a good sign. I pulled on my runners and tied my hair into a ponytail. I avoided the problem of Clive probably not letting me drive at night by myself, by detouring to the office instead where Daniel was catching up on some work.

  “Danny, I have to go to the hospital. My father’s been admitted. Can you tell Clive for me? I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right to go by yourself? I can come with you,” he offered.

  “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. It’s just going to be family there.”

  “Take care and I hope he’s okay. And stay in touch by phone, especially if you break down or have a flat tyre. I’ll have my phone next to me for the rest of the night.”

  “Thanks so much. See you later.”

  I raced down to the basement and zoomed my car out of the garage, narrowly avoiding hitting one of the teams returning from a job. I drove my car too fast to the hospital, parking in the closest car spot I could find. I ran into the hospital, waiting impatiently for the lift to arrive, jabbing the up button a hundred times in a futile gesture to make it move faster.

  At the floor I needed, I followed the signs to one of the cardiovascular wards. I skidded into the room. My father had a small room to himself, my parents finally taking advantage of the expensive private health insurance they’d been paying for years.

  I arrived out of breath and coughing badly, thinking that perhaps I wasn’t as recovered as I’d hoped.

  “Geez, Tilly, you sound terrible. Do you want some water?” asked Sean.

  I nodded mutely, not able to speak. I drank it all down in one go, sliding my arm around Mum’s shoulders, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek. She sat next to the bed, statue-still, her face drawn and grim. She held one of Dad’s hands in one of hers, using her free arm to hug me back.

  I went to the other side of the bed and kissed Dad gently on the forehead, smoothing back his hair. His eyes were closed, tubes coming out of every part of him. He seemed so small, vulnerable, and I hated to even think it, old. When had that happened?

  “Have my chair, Tilly,” Brian said, bringing it over. “You don’t look as if you’ve been too good lately.”

  “I’ve been sick,” I confirmed, not offering any further details. I didn’t want to talk about me when Dad was lying in a bed next to us. “He’s going to be fine, right? He was fine last time. It’s going to be the same again. Right?”

  Nobody was willing to meet my eyes. Brian, always the family member left to be sensible and take charge, said quietly, “We don’t know, Tilly. This was a major heart event. The doctors aren’t telling us too much at the moment because they don’t know themselves. But from what they’ve said, it’s going to be a difficult fight for Dad.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head, not willing to hear that. I looked down at the man we all loved so much, who’d been there my whole life. I couldn’t imagine him not being there. It just couldn’t happen.

  I didn’t know how mostly everyone remained so stoic and dry-eyed, especially Mum. Elise sobbed softly into Sean’s shoulder. Seeing her cry brought tears to my eyes too.

  The only family loss I’d ever experienced had been when both my grandfathers were lost at sea during a sudden storm while they were off the coast fishing together. I’d only been a young toddler when it happened, too young to remember them or the consequent mourning.

  I gave myself a mental shake. This wasn’t the time to indulge in morbid thoughts. This was the time to remain strong and positive for Dad’s sake. He would recover and be back home soon and it was up to all of us to believe that with all our hearts.

  About ten minutes later, a bossy nurse entered the room, bustling around Dad and taking his vitals. He didn’t stir once.

  “You all need to go now. Visiting hours are over. His blood pressure and pulse seemed to have stabilised for now. He needs the lights out so he can rest. You’re welcome to return tomorrow, and of course if anything happens during the night, we’ll contact you.”

  “I’ll stay with Mum for a few days,” I decided. “I’ll drive her home.”

  “Good idea,” said Brian.

  I lined up with everyone to kiss Dad goodbye, hating to leave him here alone. I ushered Mum to my car.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her as I drove. It was a stupid question, but she hadn’t said a word all night. She nodded. “I’m just going to my place for a few minutes to grab some clothes.” She nodded again.

  When I pulled up outside the Warehouse, she stared at it apathetically. It worried me that she wasn’t herself. She normally would have asked a million questions about the old redbrick building. But she sat silently, content to stay in the car while I ran inside.

  I carelessly threw clothes and toiletries into a bag, not paying much attention. I flew down to the office, where Daniel was still working, to tell him where I’d be for the next few days. I took off without another word, not wanting to keep Mum waiting for too long.

  I tried to engage her a couple of times on the drive to her house, but she wasn’t interested in conversation, lost in her thoughts.
When Mum unlocked the front door, even Puddles seemed subdued, not trying to pee on my shoes. Mum picked him up and cuddled him to her chest.

  “I’m going to bed, Tilly. I’m going to take Puddles with me.”

  “Sure. Do you want a cup of tea or anything to eat first?”

  “No, thanks.” I kissed her cheek and watched her trudge down the hall, her shoulders drooping.

  I thought I wasn’t tired, but once I’d prepared the bed in my childhood room, it looked so inviting that I brushed my teeth, changed into my pyjamas and sank into it. I fell asleep quickly, though I couldn’t call my sleep restful in any way. During the night, my arm began to throb again, so I hunted in the second bathroom for some painkillers. They weren’t as strong as the forte tablets Dr Kincaid had prescribed me, so didn’t do much to block the pain, keeping me tossing and turning for the remainder of the night.

  Mum was still very quiet the next morning, barely uttering a word or eating anything at breakfast. As soon as visiting hours commenced, I drove her back to the hospital. We stayed with Dad for the rest of the day, sitting on either side of him, holding his hands. The rest of the family came and went during the day as their jobs and duties allowed. A doctor informed us that Dad was still stable, but unconscious.

  That night, I picked up some Chinese takeaway, too washed out and tired to cook. I didn’t feel particularly hungry. I merely nibbled at the food, barely even tasting it. Mum left most of her food untouched. We didn’t speak much during the meal. I tried, but I just didn’t know what to say to comfort her.

  The next couple of days passed in the same way – a quiet breakfast, followed by a long day at the hospital, ending with a quiet dinner and early bedtime for both of us. Clive interrupted the routine with a phone call early the next morning.

  “A job’s come in for you.”

  “But I’m looking after my mother at the moment.”

  “It has to be you. The client has specifically asked for a female security officer. The job’s babysitting an eleven-year-old girl and her mother won’t countenance a male officer.”

  I sighed, caught between a hard place and a rock (the rock being Clive). “Okay, but I’m taking my mother to the hospital first and then I’ll be back home.”

  “Don’t be late. You’re expected at noon, when they check in to their hotel.”

  “Don’t panic. I’ll be there in time.”

  I dropped Mum off at the hospital, accompanying her to Dad’s room. According to the doctor, his status hadn’t changed, but I wondered if I only imagined his breathing as being more shallow, his complexion more grey. I rang Brian to let him know that I couldn’t be Mum’s companion any longer, as I had to work. He volunteered to host Mum at their house, making it easier for Gayle and him to look after her and drive her to the hospital each day.

  I was grateful to him for relieving me of the task of looking after Mum, easing my guilt at having to go to work.

  Back at the Warehouse, I aired my fears to Clive of being sent on another assignment involving a child. My experiences with Samuel had irrevocably scarred me. I didn’t think I’d ever quite be able to banish that assignment to the pile of forgotten memories in my life.

  “This assignment’s nothing like that one. This kid’s a brainiac – and alive. Apparently she’s a prodigy on the piano.” Great. Another kid playing the piano. Clive wasn’t convincing me so far of the differences between the assignments. “She’s here for some recitals for entry to a posh musical college in Europe. Her mother wants her accompanied at all times because she thinks her daughter’s rivals will stop at nothing to spoil her chances of being chosen.”

  I took my own car to the job, parking in an expensive car station where I had to drive almost to the top level to find a vacant space. The lift was out of order, so I slogged down endless stairs that smelled strongly of pee, almost making me puke by the time I reached the street. I legged it a couple of blocks to the bland hotel where the clients had chosen to stay.

  An impeccably dressed woman answered the door. She was tall and graceful with swept-back hair, expensive diamond earrings and bright red lipstick, a shock of colour out of place in the blandness of their suite. The first thing I noticed in the room was sheaves and sheaves of sheet music, stacked in several high piles on the dining table.

  The woman rushed forward assertively, but not offering her hand. “You must be the security officer from Heller’s.” I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but she didn’t give me a chance to speak. “I’m Mrs Namoy and this is . . .” She looked annoyed at the absence of her child. “Agatha!” she snapped out loudly with ill-hidden impatience. “Come out here please, girl.”

  From the smaller of the bedrooms emerged a young girl. Her face was serious, her hair also swept-back in mimicry of her mother. Her large brown eyes were the most expressive things in her serious face. She wore a plain navy, cap-sleeved dress down to her knees, clinched at the waist with a purple ribbon. Short white socks and black, shiny mary jane shoes completed her ensemble. Her fingers were long and elegant.

  She didn’t look as though she had much fun in her life.

  “I have multiple chores to do while I’m here in this city, so I need you to accompany Agatha at all times. The rivalry for a place in this academy is fierce. There are mothers out there who will do anything to ensure their child gains a spot, though none of them are as talented and accomplished as my Agatha. But that’s because those mothers aren’t prepared to put in the hard work that I do to ensure their child practices as much as Agatha.” She waggled her finger at me. “I want you to listen carefully to what I say next. It’s vital that Agatha practices at least ten hours a day. I chose this hotel because there’s an excellent baby grand in the bar that the hotel management have kindly allowed Agatha to use during the day. Of course, she can’t be there at night, because they serve alcohol there and she’s only eleven. But as long as she gets her ten hours practice during the daylight hours, I’ll be satisfied. She can spend the evenings studying one of the three other languages she’s learning.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs Namoy, but when does Agatha receive some exercise?”

  “She does a fifty-minute treadmill workout. I’ll take her down to the gym with me before breakfast each morning to do it.”

  “Sorry to ask another question, but when does Agatha receive some fresh air in the sunshine?”

  “She doesn’t have time for that.”

  “What about relaxation time?”

  Exasperated, she said, “She doesn’t have time for frivolities this close to the auditions. I told you that the competition for a place is savage. Agatha needs to be on top of her game.”

  Agatha stood quietly, her head bowed, looking every bit as submissive as a dog that had been treated cruelly in life, unable to escape. My heart wrenched for her. She should be laughing, telling secrets to her best friends, singing along to pop music and running, swimming, riding her bike until she was exhausted. Not pale and driven by a mother determined to succeed, perhaps to make up for her own failure to achieve great things.

  When Mrs Namoy left, despite my mutinous thoughts, I dutifully took Agatha down to the bar and listened patiently while she did her warm-up exercises. It came as a huge shock when she launched with great passion into what even I recognised as a very difficult piece of music. I’d thought Samuel was a good piano player, but Agatha was magnificent, closing her eyes as she played some of the music as if she didn’t need to read the notes. My parents had coughed up for two years of piano lessons for me, from which I’d learned little more than ‘Chopsticks’.

  After two hours of practising, in which she didn’t stop for a bathroom break or for the glass of milk I offered, she paused, stretching out her fingers and standing up to shake the stiffness from her legs and feet.

  I saw my chance. “It’s a lovely day, Agatha, so why don’t we go for a swim in the hotel pool? I bet the water is lovely and warm from the sun.”

  She turned huge, shocked eyes my way. “B-bu
t Mother said I must practice at every opportunity before the audition.”

  “You’ve worked hard this afternoon, so I think you deserve a break for a while. You need to relax and to have some fun too. So let’s swim.”

  “I can’t swim,” she whispered, ashamed.

  “That’s okay. It’s not the ocean, it’s just a pool. It has a shallow end. You don’t have to go anywhere near the deep end.” I leaned towards her conspiratorially, lowering my voice. “You know, I don’t swim very well myself. I might have to buy myself some floaties. But don’t tell anyone.”

  She giggled a little, a sweet, tinkling sound. “Grownups don’t wear floaties.”

  “That’s why you can’t tell anyone,” I whispered dramatically. She giggled again.

  I took her hand and led her over to the panoramic window at the far end of the bar. It overlooked the large pool, which sparkled and twinkled invitingly in the sunshine. There weren’t many people there at the moment, most of the hotel guests busy with business meetings.

  “Doesn’t that look beautiful?”

  She nodded wistfully, not able to tear her eyes away. And when she did, she looked back at the piano with guilt. “I should practice more. Mother won’t be pleased.”

  I shrugged. “Just a little swim. It will sharpen your mind, ready for more practice.”

  “I don’t have any swimmers.”

  “I don’t have any with me either. Let’s go shopping in the hotel shops.”

  We spent a very nice fifteen minutes in a shop, trying on swimsuits. She finally picked a very modest turquoise one piece. I chose a cheerful dark blue and yellow one piece. We returned to her suite, changed and went down to the pool, taking a towel each from the neat stack made available for guests.

  After conquering her initial fear of the water, Agatha enjoyed herself, squealing and splashing in the water like any eleven-year-old. She even dared to climb into the deep end with me, clinging to the side, exhilarated and frightened by the sensation of not feeling the ground beneath her feet.